


Tap on the Glass

by BlueOatmeal



Category: Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Dehumanization, Dissection, First Aid, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Incapacitation, Injury, Kidnapping, Malnutrition, Medical, Medical Torture, Mutation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rated For Violence, Seizures, Sick Character, Sickfic, Starvation, Surgery, Torture, Unethical Experimentation, Vivisection, Vomiting, Weird Biology, Whump, artistic license medicine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:53:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26689975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueOatmeal/pseuds/BlueOatmeal
Summary: Kipo grabbed Lio's hands in her paws. “It’s Jamack; Dr. Emilia did something to him.”
Comments: 63
Kudos: 94





	1. Help

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Three Doses](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/696181) by kohaikandi. 
  * Inspired by [Mega!Jamack AU](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/696184) by artistic-harlom-world. 



“Help.”

In the doorway stood Jamack. His shirt was mussed, torn, and bloody. His jacket and tie were missing entirely. He was holding his upper right arm as if it would fall off if he let it go. His eyes were nearly squeezed shut. He stooped a little, arms tucked into his chest. His legs trembled like he’d worked them past exhaustion, which is saying a lot for any frog. His breaths weren’t quite even. His skin was dull and tight. He looked ill.

Kipo gaped. “Jamack?”

He shot a furtive glance behind him, then leaned heavily on the doorpost. _“Please,”_ he hissed.

“Wh—yeah, yeah of course,” Kipo stuttered, backing away. “Come in. Couch is right there,” she said, gesturing. She watched him with wide eyes as he staggered in. She looked out the door and, seeing nothing suspicious in the dark, closed it. She turned just in time to see Jamack collapse, and launched forward to catch him under his arms. “Woah! Let’s get you a seat, huh?”

He grunted, and his arms spasmed a little as Kipo walked him over and set him on the plush plaid couch. His eyes were shut tight, and he twitched randomly.

Kipo put a paw to her mouth. “Ohh man. Jamack, I’m gonna get my dad; he can probably help better than I can. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

His hand shot out and grabbed her paw as she pulled away. “Is—“ he started, cracking his eyes open. “Is he like you, or like Doctor Emilia?”

The fur raised on Kipo’s arms and her lip curled. _“She_ did this to you!?”

His grip tightened. “Is he like you, or her?” he repeated, desperation warping his tone.

She didn’t need to ask what he meant by that. “Like me,” she said, giving him a firm nod.

Jamack let go and rubbed at his arm. “’Kay.”

Kipo gave him one last glance, then ran deeper into the treehouse the Timbercats had lent her and her family. She skidded around a corner. “Dad! Dad!” she yelled. “Help! Dad, I need you!”

Lio Oak burst through a door at the end of the hall and sprinted for her, barefoot and half-dressed. “What is it, Kipo!?” he asked, grabbing her shoulders and looking her over. “Are you okay? What’s going on?” He put his hand to her cheek, then pulled her close and looked around frantically.

She grabbed his hands in her paws. “It’s Jamack; Dr. Emilia did something to him.”

He blinked. “Jamack?” His expression darkened as he processed the rest. “Oh.”

She bit her lip and nodded. “He looks really bad, Dad. He’s in the living room.”

Lio patted her on the shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. “Show me.”

She led him back to the front of the house as he pulled his tank top down from around his shoulders and tied the arms of his jumpsuit around his waist. She motioned for him to stay by the wall as she approached Jamack. “I’m back!” she said. “And I brought Dad!”

Jamack looked up warily.

Kipo gestured between them. “Dad; Jamack. Jamack; Dad.”

Lio inclined his head. “Nice to finally meet you.” He smiled. “Thank you for saving my daughter. You can call me Lio.”

Jamack gave Kipo an exasperated look. “Must you slander me like this?”

“He’s still getting used to being a good guy,” Kipo deadpanned.

Lio suppressed a smirk and nodded mock-seriously.

Jamack scoffed and looked away.

Kipo came over to stand in front of Jamack. “Can you tell us what happened? Or at least what’s going on now, so we can help you?”

His gaze flicked between her and her father, who was slowly making his way over. He pulled open a tear in his sleeve, revealing three welts in a row on his arm. The topmost had a messy gash trailing from it. “You’ve met Dr. Emilia, I take it,” he said. “She injected something into my arm. Said she’d figured out a faster solution than working out a reverse mutagen.” He looked up at Kipo. “Had a book with your name on the front.”

She jolted and gasped.

Lio tensed. _“No.”_

Kipo turned to him. “I thought it got burned in the bag—“

“She must have stolen it from you before that,” Lio said, looking disturbed.

“So, she—“ Jamack winced hard and shuddered as a wave of pain washed over him. “Sh-she could actually do it then?” he asked breathlessly. “She’s not just some weirdo with needles?”

“Do what?” Kipo whispered.

He rubbed his palm between his eyes. “She said she could turn regular mutes into megas,” he grated.

Kipo’s eyes lit up. “Cool!”

He gave her an incredulous look.

Lio put his hand on her shoulder. “Kipo, you and your mom are special cases. Most megas aren’t… They aren’t sapient like other mutes. They’re huge and mutated, but ultimately still animals, like the ones from before.”

Jamack turned to Lio. “Her mom’s a _what?”_ he muttered disbelievingly. He looked Lio up and down.

Kipo blinked, cogs turning in her head. “Oh.” She scowled. “No! What? She can’t do that!” She looked up at Lio. “But that’s not fair! You can’t just do that to a person! You can’t just—take that _away—“_

Lio sighed. “That’s what she’s always wanted to do. Guess she decided that she’d rather deal with more megas than be stuck with intelligent mutes any longer.” He kneeled for a better look at Jamack’s arm. “When did she do this?”

“A week ago,” Jamack mumbled. “It’s been getting worse since then. I escaped earlier today.”

Lio frowned and hummed. “What have your symptoms been? What’s been getting worse?”

Kipo knelt next to him and gave him an encouraging nod. As an afterthought, she put away her paws.

Jamack looked off to the side. “Various things,” he said evasively. His lips curled in a small smirk. “I made her work for the first dose. Unfortunately, even with my training, the Theotters are terrible at real combat. They managed to escape in the van, but while I was covering them, the good doctor and her goons were able to pin me long enough to jab me.” He crossed his arms tightly to keeping them from shaking. “And it was a terrible job, frankly. I’ve seen froglets give neater injections.”

Kipo raised an eyebrow. “Heh?”

Lio waved off the odd comment. He was laser-focused. “And? Did you react to it immediately? Did you see what the formula looked like?”

“Bright green,” he said. “Like algae. And glowing, too.” He rolled his eyes. “A little cliché, if you ask me.”

“Bioluminescent markers,” Lio said. “Used to track the formula’s progress through the body. Likely paired with water-soluble iodine if she has any functional x-ray equipment.”

Jamack swallowed. “Oh.” He curled forward as a small spasm ran through him. “W-well, whatever was in it worked pretty f-fast. Mostly it just made me sick.” He frowned. “At first, anyway. I’d tossed her mooks around and opened an escape route when my heart practically jumped out of my chest and I passed out.”

Lio tilted his head slightly. “Palpitations?”

“Mm-hm,” Jamack affirmed. “Had them a few times this week, but that was the worst episode. Like getting kicked in the sternum.”

“Oof,” Kipo said, wincing in sympathy.

Jamack looked off to the side. “I woke up in her little base of operations. I was just nauseous, so I thought the injection had just been a tranquilizer that didn’t work right. It happens.” He hesitated. “Nothing else for the rest of the day. The next day, I got the second dose, and overheard her talking about—“ He sneered. “About the _project._ About what she was trying to do.” He paused. “Same glowy green stuff from the first time,” he added.

Lio glanced sidelong at Kipo. “And after that?”

Jamack grimaced. “That’s when things got bad. The second shot…” He meshed his fingers together. “It started out as fairly mild, but over about an hour it built until it was unbearable.” He waved a hand vaguely before gripping it tightly again. “Pain. Sharp and hot in my head, and a deep, visceral—I don’t know how else to explain it but as a visceral _wrongness_ in my gut, like someone was bending each of my bones just short of breaking, or very roughly rearranging my organs after filling them with chlorine.” He took a deep breath and let out a shaky exhale. “After it reached its peak, it kind of just. Stayed like that. For the rest of the day and into the night. I don’t think I was fully conscious for all of it. It did eventually start to dull enough to think properly.”

Lio nodded slowly.

Kipo chewed the inside of her cheek, brows furrowed in worry.

He tilted his head up. “I had a seizure in there somewhere...” He stared dully at the ceiling. “Next day, third and last injection. Pain flared up again for a few hours. Got really itchy.” He shut his eyes and grimaced. “Then sick again.”

“Mm-hm?” Lio said, prompting him gently.

Jamack leaned forward and looked towards the door. “Just a mix of the same after that. Got in a few scuffles. They took some blood two days ago.”

Kipo frowned. “What would they want with your blood? The cells don’t have DNA in them, and they’re working on genetics, aren’t they?” She turned to her father.

“Most _mammal_ red blood cells don’t carry DNA; that’s true,” he said. “But amphibian red blood cells do. Or at least, they did in the old world.”

Her eyes widened and she nodded.

Lio dipped his head in thought for a few moments, then looked up. “Anything else unusual, Jamack?”

“No,” he said shortly.

He sat up straight. “Alright then. I’ll have more questions for you later, and I’ll need to figure out exactly what she did, but for right now let’s just worry about helping you feel better. Sound good?”

His brows furrowed and he glanced at Kipo, who grinned. “Sure,” he said.

Kipo stood. “I’m gonna get some water,” she said, and ran off.

Lio followed Jamack’s gaze to the front door. “You think they’ll come after you?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” Jamack admitted. “Not here, at any rate. Too many hostile mutes.” He looked at Lio. “It can’t actually work, right? Whatever this is definitely messing me up, but it can’t turn me… into a mega, right?”

Lio sighed. “It might. Her organization is partially responsible for the creation of both Kipo and Hu—the mute you’d know as Scarlemagne.”

“Scarlemagne?” Jamack sat up, eyes wide. _“Scarlemagne?”_

“Yes,” Lio said, wincing. “So while she doesn’t have any prior experience turning mutes into megas, she does have extensive work with old-world animals, mutes, megas, and human/mega hybrids. She’s never done it before, as far as I know, but she has the know-how to figure it out. A first test usually isn’t likely to work, but it’s not impossible.”

Jamack chuckled darkly. “Well, with _my_ luck…” He trailed off with a tired sigh. He gave Lio a piercing look. “You used to work with her,” he stated.

Lio frowned. _“Used_ to,” he admitted. “A long time ago.”

“She really doesn’t like you,” Jamack said, watching his expression closely.

His eyes hardened. “The feeling’s mutual,” he said in a low voice.

Jamack raised an eyebrow. “I gathered that much, but what—?” He cut himself off and looked towards the entrance to the hall, prompting Lio to do the same.

Kipo stalked out of it a second later, standing on the balls of her feet as she balanced a large pitcher in both hands. “Got it,” she chirped, glancing up. She walked over slowly, careful not to spill anything. “I couldn’t find any cups though,” she said apologetically.

“That’s alright,” Lio said, smiling at her. “I’m sure we’ll manage without.”

Jamack was focused on the pitcher, and didn’t seem to have registered their exchange.

Kipo held it out for him to take.

He grabbed the handle and the side, but as soon as Kipo let go, the pitcher fell. Jamack caught it, straining to hold up the overfilled container. He was able to lift it a little, but frowned in frustration when he couldn’t lift it any higher, and his arms shook more violently. Water splashed over the edge.

“Oops.” Kipo grabbed the pitcher again, one hand supporting the bottom and the other guiding the top. “Let’s try that again.”

Jamack flashed her a look; something between irritation, wariness, and relief. He pulled the pitcher up again, and Kipo followed his movements, allowing him to bring the edge to his lips and take a few generous gulps.

He quickly emptied half the container, then jerked it higher up, pulling it from Kipo’s grasp and inverting it over his head.

“Hey!” she yelped. “What—“

His arms went limp and the pitcher clattered to the floor. His eyes shut and he hunched forward, bowing his head. The only indication that he was still conscious was the deliberate way with which he clasped his hands together in his lap. His breathing slowed considerably.

Kipo picked up the empty pitcher. “Uh. Do you… need more?”

“Later,” Jamack muttered.

Lio furrowed his brows. “Can you tell us what’s happening right now? What’s bothering you most?”

Jamack’s hands twitched. “You know that excruciating pain I mentioned? Never went—“ He was interrupted by a full body spasm. The tendons on his hands popped, only to smooth out as he went completely limp. “A…way,” he finished lamely, almost managing a sardonic smile.

Kipo bit her lip and fidgeted. She gave her dad a worried look. “How do we fix this?”

Lio frowned. “If I can get my hands on some menthol or capsaicin… But until then, bedrest is the best option we have to try.”

Jamack opened his eyes. “There’s mint in the forest, and Cappuccino has cayenne peppers. Not that she’s within calling distance, but…” He gave a weak shrug.

Lio sat back, thinking. “Are frogs still ectothermic? Would heating pads be a bad idea?”

Jamack raised an eyebrow. “An _extremely_ bad idea. And yes, for the record, we are.” He snorted. “’Are frogs still ectothermic.’ It’s been two centuries, Kipo’s dad. Get with the program.”

Lio grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. I figured you would be, I just wanted to be certain.”

“Besides,” Jamack muttered. “It’s more than warm enough up here.”

“Well,” Kipo said, standing. “Rest it is, then. Luckily, this is a pull-out couch!”

Jamack’s eyes widened. “You expect me to sleep _here?”_

She blinked. “What’s wrong with here?” She looked around the rustic front room.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, weighing his options. He glanced at the door. “Does that lock?”

“Sort of,” Lio said, standing. He plucked a wedge of wood from the side table and shoved it under the door. He used his heel to push it in further. He tugged on the door, and it wouldn’t swing.

Jamack looked unimpressed. He sighed. “Nevermind. It’s fine. That’s fine.”

Lio frowned. “You can use my bed if you wa—“

“No,” Jamack said quickly. “No, that isn’t—this is fine. There aren’t any better options.”

Kipo brought out her paws. “Can I help you up so Dad can put the bed together?”

“Sure,” he said dully. He took her offered paws and slowly made it to his feet. He was shaking like a leaf. He took a step away from the couch, but his knee buckled.

Before he could fall, Kipo turned and scooped him up in a princess carry.

He squawked and snapped his arms up to grip her shoulders. Once she’d steadied, he shot her a glare. “This better be quick.”

“Don’t worry!” she chirped. “Dad’s got it.”

Lio made short work of the pull-out couch, removing the cushions and extending it out to reveal a pre-set bed. His movements caught Jamack’s attention as he straightened the bedding and fluffed the pillows. He caught his eye. “Do you want a quilt, or is this blanket alright?”

“Quilt?” Jamack repeated quizzically. “What’s—?” He broke off as he seized up in another convulsive fit, his face twisting in agony.

Kipo’s tail swished out for balance, and her eyes and ears changed. “Dad!” she shrieked, glancing up briefly from Jamack. “H-hey, it’s okay,” she soothed as Lio lunged across the bed. “It’ll be over in a second.”

Sure enough, the spasms died down into twitches and tremors as she handed him over to Lio.

He pulled Jamack onto the bed, folding the blankets aside. “You’ll be alright,” he said softly. “I’ll work on getting that mint once you’re settled, okay?” He pushed gently on his shoulder, trying to get him to uncurl and lie back.

Jamack reacted as if he’d been burned. His hand shot up and pulled Lio’s away, holding it in a vice grip that he shouldn’t have had the strength for. His eyes snapped open wide. “No.”

Lio blinked. “What?”

Jamack flung his hand away and clawed at the bed to pull himself upright. _“No.”_

Lio backed up a few feet. “But you should lie down. Your circulation—“

“Not like that,” Jamack growled. He leaned forward and settled down on his hands so that he was lying on his belly. “Go away.”

“I’m sorry,” Lio said, brows furrowing. “I didn’t—“

_“Away.”_

Lio stood up from the bed and picked up the pitcher. “Alright,” he said calmly. “I’m going to get some more water so that you’ll have it here if you want it later. And then I’ll leave you alone.”

Jamack glared. “Fine.”

Lio glanced questioningly at Kipo as he left, and she answered with a tense grin.

Once Lio had left the room, she turned to Jamack. “So, what was that about?” She was careful to keep her tone light.

He let his head drop and groaned into the sheets. “I’m not talking about it,” he mumbled peevishly.

She sat on the edge of the full size bed. “Okay. Just remember that I’m here if you need me.”

He was quiet for a few long seconds. Then, “Just… Don’t _ever_ do _that.”_

She cocked her head. “Touch your shoulder?”

He looked up. “No, that isn’t—it’s not that. The other…” He looked off to the side. “Just… don’t. Okay? Just don’t.”

“I won’t,” she said. “Or, I’ll try my best not to, because I’m still a little confused about what exactly you want me to not do.”

“Good enough,” he murmured. He pulled the folded blanket over himself and tugged it around until he was completely covered. “Stick around until your dad comes back,” he said, his voice muffled. “And then leave with him.”

Her tail swished back and forth slowly. “You sure? I could keep watch. I was gonna stay up to read anyway.”

It was a few seconds before he answered. “Yeah, okay,” he muttered.

Kipo grinned, then frowned. “Man, you must really feel awful; you never give in that easily.”

He sighed. “It’s been a long week.”

Lio stopped in with the water, and Kipo told him the plan. He promised he’d go out for mint as soon as the sun rose, and headed back to his room.

Kipo turned the lights off, grabbed her book from the side table, and picked up where she’d left off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later found out mammal blood does have DNA in it. Not in the red blood cells--that part's true--but in the white blood cells and other things. So the exchange isn't entirely factual. But I'm just gonna leave it.


	2. Tired

After reading the same page for the seventh time, Kipo was startled into full consciousness by what sounded like a shout with all the air pressed out of it.

She sat up and dropped the book. Kipo tossed back the edge of the blanket, exposing Jamack’s head and shoulders.

His arms bent inwards towards his face, one twisted into an unnatural position, and the other clutching tightly at it, nearly clawing through the skin. His muscles jerked and twitched violently. His eyes were shut tight, and his mouth contorted in a pained grimace. It was as if someone had gone and manually tightened each muscle and tendon just short of snapping, then set them to rapidly loosen and contract at random.

Kipo swallowed and knelt by the bed. “You’ll be okay,” she said softly. “It’ll be over in a second.”

It wasn’t.

Jamack didn’t respond to any of Kipo’s increasingly anxious assurances. He just shook, and shook, and shook. It looked like he was being electrocuted by his own nervous system.

Kipo leaned onto the bed, watching him as her claws flexed in and out of the mattress. She counted seconds in her head.

After about three minutes, the spasms weakened and gradually slowed until Jamack was still save for a few stray twitches. Suddenly he gasped and began taking deep, desperate breaths.

Kipo pressed a paw over one of his hands, causing him to flinch and flutter open his eyes before screwing them shut again. “Slow down, Jamack,” she said calmly. “It’s over; you’re okay. Just slow it down a bit. Pace yourself.”

His breath hitched and he managed to stretch his exhale a little longer.

“Yes! Perfect!” Kipo said. “Just like that.”

With some difficulty, Jamack slowed from frantic gasping to tired panting.

Kipo took his free hand in her own and rubbed her thumb across the back of his knuckles. “We’ll get this sorted out as soon as we can,” she assured him.

Jamack hummed unhappily and squinted at her. “What’re… y’doin’…?”

She blinked. “Holding your hand,” she said matter-of-factly. “You want me to stop?”

He sighed and shut his eyes.

She frowned and tugged her hand back. “I _can,_ if—“

“No,” he said quickly, sliding his hand over so just their fingertips met. “No, I—I…” He hid his face in the bed and hunched his shoulders. He curled his fingers back.

Kipo reached out again, this time taking both of his cold green hands and holding them tight. She could feel his pulse hammering away, much faster than she’d have expected, even after a seizure. “’S gonna be okay,” she whispered.

Slowly, the tension drained from Jamack’s shoulders, and in the next few minutes his pulse fell to a more reasonable rate, though it still seemed too fast to Kipo.

She set her chin down on the bed and brought back her jaguar nose, whiskers, ears, and tail. Her ears flicked, adjusting to the nighttime ambiance. After a visual sweep of the room she already knew was safe, Kipo shut her eyes and tried her best not to dip any deeper than a light doze.

* * *

Lio got up at first light. He only had to put his shoes on, as he’d slept in his jumpsuit. He grabbed a cloth bag and padded softly into the living room.

Despite his efforts to be quiet, Kipo’s ears turned in his direction. “Morning,” she whispered, more mouthing the words than making any real noise. She yawned silently, curling her tongue and showing off her fangs.

“Good morning,” he whispered back, tip-toeing closer. He bent for a better look at Jamack, squinting in the dark.

He looked much calmer than when he’d left, and seemed to be getting some rest. He was still in a very defensive position, save for his hands, which Kipo held gently.

Lio straightened up. “How was he?” he mouthed.

Kipo grimaced. “Had a bad seizure after you went to bed, but nothing since then.” Her brows furrowed. “It was weird. Like he couldn’t breathe until it was over.” She licked her lips. “Was kinda scary,” she admitted.

Lio nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder. “He’s lucky to have a friend like you to help him through it. You’re doing a great job, sweetie.”

Kipo grinned and the tip of her tail curled up. “Thanks, Dad.”

He crouched to give her a kiss on the forehead, then went for the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, removing the wedge from under the door.

Kipo nodded.

Lio slipped out the door and started making his way down the massive trunk to the forest floor.

He paused halfway down a staircase and stepped back up to the last door he’d passed. He knocked lightly on it. “Troy? Kids? Is anyone up?”

He heard a scuffle, then Benson opened the door.

He hid a yawn behind his hand. “Mister Oak?” He blinked blearily. Half a dozen occupied mattresses were scattered on the floor behind him.

“Benson,” Lio said calmly. “Can you do something important for me?”

He scrubbed at his eyes and stood up straighter, more alert. “Yeah, sure. What is it?”

“I’m going down to collect some herbs. I need you to make sure that everybody knows not to go upstairs.”

He tilted his head. “Why?”

Lio hesitated, unsure how much to tell him. “You can explain to Troy and the twins that Kipo is helping me with a badly injured mute.”

Benson’s eyes widened, then his brows furrowed as he registered his specific wording.

“He’s very skittish, and I’m afraid he could hurt himself trying to avoid unwanted visitors. And he needs to rest right now anyways, so I don’t want him interrupted.”

Benson swallowed and nodded. “Who is it? Did one of the Timbercats get hurt?”

Lio shook his head, then raised his eyebrow. “I believe you’ve met Jamack?”

Benson leaned back and clapped a hand to his mouth. “What?” he hissed. He glanced up at the ceiling as if he could see through it, then leaned forward again with a frown. “Is he _okay?”_

Lio put a placating palm up. “He will be. But right now it seems like Kipo is the only one he trusts not to pose an active threat.” He gave him a serious look. “Can you keep everyone downstairs?”

Benson paused, then nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

Lio gave him a warm smile. “That’s all I can ask of you. Thank you, Benson.”

“Sure,” Benson said distractedly, a troubled look on his face.

Lio turned to descend again, and only got a few steps down before Benson leaned out the door and called for his attention. He looked up.

 _“’Skittish?’”_ Benson quoted disbelievingly.

He nodded slowly, frowning. “Is he not, usually?”

Benson shook his head emphatically.

“That’s good to know,” Lio said. “I’ll keep an eye on that.”

Satisfied, Benson retreated and closed the door.

Lio sighed and continued down. He’d have to involve Kipo’s friends at some point, if he wanted a better idea of what was and wasn’t normal for Jamack. Jamack himself wasn’t a reliable source; he was definitely keeping something from them about his time with Dr. Emilia, and from Kipo’s recollections, he didn’t seem a very forthcoming person in the first place.

His daughter was amazing at bringing people together, and bringing out people’s best selves, but he would have to watch out for her; she was already dangerously close to becoming Hugo’s emotional crutch rather than the friend and sibling she’d intended. She didn’t need more adults dumping their problems on her; she had plenty of her own between herself and her peers.

That said, he’d gotten the strong impression that Jamack hadn’t been looking for anything but somewhere safe to stop running, where he could suffer in relative peace. And while Kipo was friendly to just about everyone, she seemed to be particularly fond of Jamack and Hugo. Hugo he understood, but Jamack was still a bit of a puzzle.

But the psychological analysis could come later. First he had to focus on stabilizing Jamack.

He pulled up any and all information he could remember about frogs or amphibians in general as he left the cats’ home in search of thicker underbrush. Unfortunately most of his recent work focused on humans and the various annelids and other critters found underground. What he did know for certain was based on old-world frogs. He’d never gotten to study frog mutes.

He followed the spreading sunlight until he found a few clumps of mint, growing over twice his height. He pulled the thinner stems down to reach the leaves, and methodically tore them off. He stuffed them in his bag and moved on to another group of stalks.

It didn’t take long to fill the bag, and there was still plenty of intact mint should he require more.

He turned back to the Timbercat village just as a shrill yowl pierced the air. A static chorus of hisses followed, punctuated with the occasional growl or snarl.

“Oh, no,” he groaned under his breath as he set off running.

Kipo was on good terms with the cats, but Lio suspected there was a limit to their hospitality, and it was possible they’d just crossed it.


	3. Up

“Who was that?” Wolf sat up slowly, pushing away a crochet blanket.

Benson sat on his mattress. “Kipo’s dad. He told me to make sure everyone stays down here.”

Wolf frowned and glanced at the one empty mattress. “Why?”

Benson put his palms up and sat up taller. “Something hurt—“

Wolf jumped to her feet and stepped towards the hall.

“No! No no no, Kipo’s fine! It’s Jamack!” Benson stood and blocked her path.

Wolf looked up and her expression of determination wavered.

He opened his mouth, but was cut off when the twins sat up as one.

“What’s going on?” Dahlia murmured.

“Uh.” Benson’s hands lowered. He looked at Wolf. “It’ll be better if everyone hears this at once.”

Wolf looked past him into the hall, listening, then nodded. “Fine. But anything happens I’m going up, whether you like it or not.”

Benson scowled. “Mr. Oak said not to, though.” He walked over and nudged Troy’s shoulder. “Hey, uh, we gotta talk for a minute. All of us.” He leaned in the opposite direction and tapped at the lump under the blanket. “That includes you, Dave.”

“What’s happening?” Asher asked, stretching and turning to Wolf.

“Ughh, it’s not even light out!” Dave whined.

Troy mumbled something unintelligible and turned over.

Benson failed to suppress a silly grin, then rolled his eyes at Dave. “Dude. It’s Jamack.”

Dahlia snorted. “You’re never gonna get him up like that; he’s a heavy sleeper. Here.” She picked up Mandu and tossed her at Troy’s mattress.

Mandu landed next to Troy’s head with a bounce and a startled squeal.

Troy yelped and scrambled upright, eyes wide.

“Hey!” Benson chided Dahlia. “Sorry about that,” he said to Troy. “But we need everyone up for a sec.”

“Jamack?” Dave peeked his head out from the blanket. “I don’t care about him,” he said, but his moody pout was betrayed by the concern in his eyes.

“Okay, okay. Everyone up? Everyone listening?” Benson stood up and looked around at the others.

Asher tilted their head. “Isn’t Jamack that mute who saved you with an explosion?”

Benson hesitated. “Not quite how that happened, but yes, that’s him. He got hurt somehow—like, _badly_ hurt, and he’s upstairs now. Kipo and Mr. Oak are taking care of him.”

“It’s _Doctor_ Oak,” Troy corrected, yawning.

Dahlia stood up. “Then let’s go help.”

Benson put his palms up. “No! Mist—Doctor Oak said we should all stay down here. He told me. He went down to get herbs or something and he told me to make sure we all stay right here.”

Wolf put her hands on her hips. “Why?”

“I’m—“ Benson shrugged. “Look, I’m not sure. He said something about Jamack being like—skittish? That’s what he said: ‘skittish’—which I think he meant like, on guard? Threatened? Because that doesn’t sound like him, frankly—“ He shook his head. “Anyway he said he needs to rest and not be interrupted, and he might attack anyone who comes in that he doesn’t expect. So no going upstairs.”

Troy nodded. “Okay. Maybe we can offer help when he’s calmed down.”

Benson gestured at him. “Exactly. Yes.” He shrugged again. “So, we cool?”

Wolf sat down on her mattress. “Kipo can handle Jamack. If she needs us she’ll let us know.”

Dahlia frowned. “How hurt did you say he was?”

“We can be quiet,” Asher added.

Dave molted into his adult form and stood up. He looked between the twins and Benson uncertainly.

“He just said he was injured,” Benson said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “He did sound really serious though.”

“We should see if there’s anything we can do,” Asher asserted, and stepped towards the outer door.

Dahlia followed them. “We’ll be quiet.”

Benson nearly tripped over his own feet getting around them to block the door. “No! Dr. Oak said we shouldn’t!”

Asher grabbed his shoulders and gently but firmly pushed him off to the side. “Kipo shouldn’t have to deal with it herself!”

Dahlia opened the door. “Maybe things changed; what if he got worse and she needs something while her dad’s away?”

“Guys, she’s fine,” Wolf said levelly.

“We don’t know tha—aah!” Dahlia crashed to the floor, her ankle in Benson’s grasp.

“Don’t be unreasonable,” Troy said, throwing off the blanket and heading over. “Dr. Oak told us to stay, so we should stay.”

“Uncool,” Asher growled, and pried Benson’s hand off their sister’s leg. “We just want to help!”

“She doesn’t need our help!” Troy tried to pull Dahlia up to her feet and close the door at the same time, but she tugged him down by his jumpsuit and squeezed her way through only to be stopped by Wolf, who pulled her arm and twisted it behind her back.

Dahlia screamed.

* * *

Kipo’s ears twitched. She looked towards the door, then swiveled her head around as she detected something in the hall.

Dave peeked in.

“Dave!” Kipo whispered. “Stay downstairs, you’ll wake him up!”

The door _slammed_ open, kicked in by none other than Yumyan Hammerpaw, who was followed closely by several armed Timbercats.

Jamack stirred, blinking drowsily.

“Kipo!” Yumyan bellowed.

Jamack yanked the blankets back over himself and stayed very still.

“Are you okay?” Yumyan continued. “There’s an intruder about! McClaw smelled blood around this tree. We heard a scream too, but that was just the humans playfighting. You’re not hurt, are ya?”

Kipo stood up and stepped in front of the bed. “No, I’m okay. And don’t worry about the intruder, I think it’s just my friend you detected. He’s injured.” She raised her palms as Yumyan took a curious step forward, glancing past her to the bed. “He really needs to rest right now. I can introduce you tomorrow.”

Yumyan inclined his head. “Kipo, you know I trust you, but I do have to know who’s in my village. Your human friends are one thing, but a mute?”

A cat named Thunderboot leaned in from behind Yumyan, her eyes wide and bright with curiosity. “And now that we know someone’s here, we _have_ to know who it is.”

“You can wait till tomorrow,” Kipo said firmly. “He’s not going anywhere, anyway.”

Yumyan frowned. “Look, we’re not gonna do anything to him. I just need to know how ready I have to be if he’s faking and planning an ambush. You could still treat him, even if he is a threat; worst case scenario I’d just have to lock him up with Scarlemagne.”

And then all hell broke loose.

Jamack had been keeping it cool. Kipo seemed to have the situation mostly handled, but he was ready to defend himself and escape if necessary. But when he heard that he could be locked up with _Scarlemagne_ , he couldn’t let the negotiations get any further.

He shot out from the bed and past Kipo, swinging a leg up to give Yumyan a solid kick in the face.

“Jamack!” Kipo yelled. “No!”

He bounded off him and without touching the floor, landed a flying punch on Thunderboot.

The other cats at the door all hissed at him, and one sent up a horrid yowl that was echoed from the other trees.

“Mod Frog!” somebody snarled.

“No!” Kipo shouted, shouldering cats aside as they rushed Jamack. “Don’t hurt him! Leave him alone!”

Jamack sprung off Thunderboot as she swiped for him and leapfrogged over another Timbercat, just to use the next as a springboard as he shot his tongue at the nearest branch and pulled himself up and out of reach.

He jumped to an even higher branch, and perched on it to watch the chaos below.

The cats had begun to climb, but Kipo was outpacing them, still yelling at them to stop.

A bunch of humans poured out of a lower door on the tree and turned to each other, clearly unsure how to proceed.

And there was Kipo’s father, sprinting up the stairs and hollering something in a commanding tone that Jamack hadn’t expected to hear from him.

The narrow focus from his instinct-driven escape faded as his brain registered his inactivity and distance from threat as safety. And as he dared to relax, just for a moment, the pain came rushing back all at once.

It crackled along his torn muscles and frayed nerves. His back throbbed under fresh cuts he was only now noticing, and a bolt ran through his innards and exploded somewhere between his heart and his throat. He jerked as if he’d been skewered and let out a sharp cry that sliced through the noise below.

His movement disturbed his balance, and while the shock addled his senses, he still had the sense to claw weakly at the branch’s bark as he fell backwards over it.

There was air rushing past him, and there was noise, and it was so hard to think about anything besides the pain.

And then he smacked into something and stopped. His eyes had shut at some point, but he could hear someone talking very close. The force of the impact jostled—well, everything—and forced a loud groan from him.

Whoever was talking shut up _real_ fast.

There was still too much going on, so his body triggered one last defensive reflex: he passed out.

* * *

Dave hovered in place, his wings buzzing behind him. “…Jamack?” He adjusted his hold on the limp frog. “You still with us, dude?”

“Dave!”

He whirled to face Kipo, who was clinging to the tree several meters away. “Pretty sure he’s unconscious,” he told her.

“Dave, you’ve gotta get him somewhere safe. I’ve gotta hash this out with the Timbercats before he can come back to the tree.”

They both glanced down, where Lio was chewing out the cats and herding Benson and Wolf to the front of the group, probably to serve as character witnesses. Yumyan was being stubborn, but at least had the decency to look a little chagrined.

“Could you do that?” Kipo asked, brow furrowed.

“’Course I can!” He flew up. “Don’t worry, I won’t go too far.”

“Thanks, Dave,” Kipo sighed. As Dave turned to go, she threw out a paw to stop him. “Wait! There’s something important you need to know!”

Dave lowered back down. “Yeah?”

“Whatever you do,” Kipo said, “Do _not_ lay him down on his back. He just about bit Dad’s head off when he tried it.”

Dave blinked. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Kipo said, shaking her head. “I just know it’s important.”

“Good enough for me,” Dave declared. “See you soon!”

“See you soon,” Kipo echoed tiredly.

Dave sped off, heading for the canopy.

He made sure to put some distance between them and the village, then found a leafy perch supported by sturdy, tangled branches. He put Jamack down carefully, positioning him to lay on his front. As he did so, he got a clear look at the growing bloodstain along his side. “Aw, man,” he said, sitting next to him. “That’s a new one, isn’t it?”

The blood was a much more vibrant magenta than the dried spots scattered elsewhere. Dave pulled the torn fabric aside to see the cuts underneath. There were four; long, but not deep. Dave picked some leaves and layered them over the wound, then pressed on it. “I’m mostly sure that that helps,” he informed Jamack.

He leaned over to scan the rest of him. He was breathing, but there wasn’t a lot else he could see through his clothes. He did notice the three raised marks through the tear in his sleeve. “What did _that?”_ he pondered aloud.

He couldn’t quite put a claw on it, but something else was off about Jamack. Was it his color? The mottled bruises peeking out from his sleeves? The quiet? The stillness?

Dave rested his chin on his hand and smoothed out a fold in the back of Jamack’s collar. “What happened to you?”

He sat there for a few minutes, watching the sun rise.

He felt Jamack twitch, and turned to face him. “You wakin’ up?”

Jamack drew a deep breath and let out a long reedy whine.

Dave’s wings flattened down. “Yikes,” he muttered.

His back tensed as if he was going to push himself up, but it was barely a second before he went limp again with a forceful hiss.

“Hey, go ahead and take it as slow as you want,” Dave advised. “There’s no rush; we’re totally safe up here.”

Jamack pried open his eyes and glanced backwards without moving his head. He frowned. “Who’re you?”

Dave tilted his head. “I’m Dave? You know me! Hero, hunk, dispenser of wisdom; all around great guy?”

Jamack scanned him over. He looked straight ahead. “Ah.” He closed his eyes again.

“You look terrible,” Dave commented. “Benson said you were hurt or something, which you definitely are, but are you also like, sick? Because you look sick.”

He grimaced and shuddered. “D-don’t…” His eyes opened. “Wait, where… are we? Where’s Scarlemagne?”

His wings lifted. “We’re in a tree! And Scarlemagne’s back in Timbercat Village, in his cell.” He shrugged. “You know; guards and locks and everything.”

“In… a cell,” Jamack echoed. “R-right.”

Dave tilted his head. “You did hear what happened, right? It’s been like, a week and a half.”

“Pretty sure I… only got the short version,” Jamack mumbled. He winced and screwed his eyes shut.

He leaned forward. “What’s wrong? Something hurt?”

“N-no—I mean, _yes,_ but it’s n—“ He clenched his jaw and tucked his chin into his chest. He managed to raise a trembling hand up to press over his nostrils.

“Ohhh,” Dave said. “You’re _sick_ sick.” He nodded sagely. “I know how that is.”

Jamack shot him a weak glare.

Dave scratched his face and fanned his wings open and closed. “Yeah, most of the time you just can’t tell if human food is spoiled or not until you try it. Like it can even taste good, but then it’s like, ‘Nope! That’s not a thing that belongs in a bug!’ which is weird, because a lot of things belong in a bug just fine, actually.”

He paused. “Not explosive nectar though. That was a mistake.”

Jamack swallowed hard and uncovered his nose to take deep, deliberate breaths.

Dave was staring off into the sky. “That reminds me; the first time we met the Timbercats, we were trying to escape, so we gave ‘em stacks upon stacks of pancakes—and they must have really liked them, because they didn’t notice until later that we’d mixed the batter with like, a _ton_ of cat hair. And Kipo was just about to win them over when they all started upchucking, so that plan didn’t really work how it was supposed to.”

Jamack kept his face down, but his breath started hitching occasionally and when he swallowed again, thick saliva seeped out from between his lips.

“But some other stuff happened and they like us now, so that’s good,” Dave concluded. He frowned. “So, did you eat something nasty that you need to throw up, or are you just queasy because you’re sick?” He turned to Jamack, and his face fell. “Oh.”

He was tense and trembling, and the next time his breath hitched it really caught, and Jamack gagged. His mouth fell open and he heaved. His sides bent inwards, as if he was being squeezed by a giant invisible hand.

Dave pulled his hand away as the makeshift leaf bandage fell apart and fresh beads of blood were pressed out of the wound. He hesitated, glancing worryingly over Jamack as the contractions intensified.

Saliva dripped steadily from his mouth, and his eyes were screwed up in pain.

Dave got closer to his side and rubbed both his left hands up and down Jamack’s back. He could feel the muscles shifting and spasming underneath. “Sorry,” he said. “My bad. Not a good time for that, uh, topic of conversation, huh?”

Jamack gave no indication that he heard him. He gave another huge heave that pinched his abdomen hard and pushed a splash of bile and mucus out of his mouth. What followed could only be an internal organ; a round, pink, muscular hunk of tissue much thicker than his tongue protruded from his gaping maw, filling his throat and extending out the length of his forearm.

Dave slowed to a halt, staring. _“What_ is _that!?_ Is—is that supposed to come out? I mean having to yartz is one thing, but hurling up your guts is—like—how does that even happen!? _”_

Jamack raised his right hand and swiped frantically at the thing in his mouth, roughly wiping globs of bile and strings of mucus off of it.

He slumped for a second as if to recover his strength, then pushed the organ backwards down his throat again. He tried closing his mouth even before it was all the way in. He squirmed and swallowed compulsively until the pink blob inverted and slid back into place in his belly.

Dave watched his sides fill back out, the abdominal muscles no longer having to squeeze hard enough to push an entire organ out of place. “Is everything good now?” he asked slowly, unsure.

Jamack took a deep breath and soon settled into an exhausted but even breathing pattern.

Dave resumed the backrub. “Are you okay?”

Jamack didn’t answer.

Dave frowned. “Jamack?”

His brow creased. “Nn… Huh…?”

Dave leaned forward. “Are you okay?”

There was a small delay before he spoke. “Uh-uh,” he answered in the negative.

“Was that… normal!?”

“Sort’ve,” Jamack slurred.

“Are you in pain?”

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed dully.

He bit his lip. “Uh, on a scale of one to ten, how—?“

“Hunnn…dred,” Jamack interrupted.

Dave’s eyes widened. “A hundred?”

“At… least,” Jamack said slowly.

“Dude… That’s a lot.”

“Mmm.”

“Maybe we should go back,” Dave suggested. “I’m sure Kipo’s talked the cats out of chasing you out by now.”

“Can’t,” Jamack muttered, his voice growing quieter.

“Why not?”

“Can’t move,” Jamack clarified. “Not… working right.”

Dave raised an eyebrow. “What, not at all? You were moving a minute ago.” He grabbed Jamack’s wrist and lifted his arm.

It moved without resistance, the shoulder joint swiveling loosely. His eyes snapped open. “Aïe!”

Dave dropped it immediately. “Aah! Sorry! I didn’t mean to—!”

Jamack’s eyes glazed over and he grimaced. “H-hahhh. Nnnnh.” He licked his lips and swallowed thickly. “D-don’t…”

“I won’t! I won’t!” Dave babbled. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking! I won’t do it again! Promise!”

“Mmmph.” He gave Dave a tepid glare that lasted about two seconds before his eyes slid shut.

Dave frowned. “Man, you must be really tired. When’s the last time you slept before last night?”

Jamack was quiet for a moment. “Seven,” he mumbled. “Days ago.”

Dave gaped at him. _“What!? Why!?”_

He hummed a meaningless tone and slipped back under the algae-choked waters of unconsciousness.

Dave sighed. He glanced over his shoulder at his wings, then gathered Jamack up as carefully as he could and took off towards the village.


	4. Ready

Lio was still quietly reeling from the anxiety that had followed his authoritative outburst, but the cats seemed to have taken it well. With Benson and Wolf’s help he’d been able to reframe the situation, identifying Jamack as a friend and ally who’d fallen victim to the current largest threat to mutekind, Dr. Emilia, and had had nowhere else to turn to for help.

Which was, after all, the truth.

They had been appropriately sheepish and apologetic, even if they did try to make excuses for themselves. Lio had taken the opportunity to—not _demand,_ exactly, but to very firmly request use of any medicine or medical expertise they had available.

And once Kipo had rejoined them, clearly upset through both human and feline body languages, the cats had been able to get over their initial reluctance and show Lio— _just_ Lio, and only after he’d assured them he had medical experience—where they kept their supplies. He’d yet to learn if there was a resident healer or not, but between the three cats who accompanied him, he’d been able to get a good idea of what he had to work with.

He’d sent the kids off with instructions to rearrange his room and prepare some options. He himself was occupied with diluting a poppy extract solution. He had to be careful with the dosing; many of the materials on hand were deadly in large or concentrated amounts, and he also had to account for whatever Dr. Emilia had already pumped into Jamack’s bloodstream. He had some good guesses, but it would be better to err on the side of caution until he could confirm them.

One of the cats behind him cleared her throat. “Lio?” She peeked out the door. “Dave’s back with the Mod Frog.”

His anxiety spiked, bringing back the echo of Jamack’s tortured cry before he’d fallen. It was the first pained noise he’d heard him make since arriving, and that fact bothered Lio a great deal.

“Good,” he said evenly, and corked the flower-patterned glass flask he’d been preparing. He scooped a dollop of minty paste into an ancient Altoids tin and turned around. He nodded back at the counter he’d been working at. “I’ll clean up the rest of that later. Please don’t let anyone touch it.” He let a glint of steel into his eyes. “It’s still dangerous if used incorrectly.”

Two of the cats nodded seriously and secured the door behind him as the first led him back over to the tree he and his family had been living in.

Troy and Benson met him at the stairs and reported on their progress as they walked up with him.

They’d moved his bed into the corner of the room and gathered a basket of supplies he’d requested. One of the cats was installing a lock on the bedroom door, and the twins had run a hose in from the nearest faucet.

“We were gonna get some food, just to have some on hand,” Benson was explaining, “but Dave said he just puked his guts out, so we’re putting that off for now.”

Lio frowned, old textbook pages and video files flashing through his mind. “Did he mean that figuratively, or…?”

Benson scrunched up his face and coughed. “Yeahhh, uh. I’m not sure the others picked up on it but he told me—he thinks it was his stomach?—and that he—“ He cleared his throat. “He pushed it back in, and Jamack told him it was kind of normal…?” He looked up at Lio for confirmation.

He let out his breath in a low whistle. “Well, some old-world animals could evert their stomachs like that, many frog species included, but I don’t think it was a regular occurrence. So until we know more, we should treat it as similar to a human vomiting.” He glanced at the boys. “A natural process, but infrequent, and usually a sign of underlying issues.”

They nodded seriously at him.

“Oh,” Troy said a few moments later. “Dave also said that Jamack told him he hadn’t slept for a whole week. That’s gotta be bad, even for a mute, right?”

“Yes,” Lio said. He did some quick math in his head. “Even _if_ he needed less sleep than the average human, which I don’t know, a week would still be far too long to be healthy.”

Benson scowled. “What was she _doing_ to him?” he muttered angrily.

Lio sighed. “I don’t know. He left a lot of details out.”

Troy frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you think, maybe, if she didn’t let him sleep, she didn’t let him eat either?”

Benson's worried gaze immediately shot up to Lio.

“It’s possible,” Lio said quietly. “It would depend on what kind of tests she was running.”

Benson groaned and let his head fall. “I just hope he can get better,” he mumbled.

Troy took his hand and met Benson’s startled look with a determined one. “If anyone can help your friend, Dr. Oak can,” he said confidently.

Benson glanced from Troy to Lio. He stood up a little straighter. “Yeah,” he agreed. He took a deep breath and squeezed Troy’s hand. “You’re right.”

Lio silently wished he could be so certain that his help would be enough.

* * *

Wolf, after helping with the room, went off to put together her own collection.

She knew Mod Frogs better than anyone else; but more than that, she knew what it was like to roam the surface alone.

If Jamack was going to get any healing done, he needed to stay put. But he clearly wasn’t going to do that unless he felt secure or was rendered physically incapable of going anywhere. Kipo would disapprove of restraining him, and besides that, Wolf knew from experience that trapping Frogs for any extended length of time was difficult and impractical.

And she didn’t have Stalky anymore.

So she wandered through the treehouses, picking up items she thought would help.

She stuffed them in a closet near Lio’s room just in time to get swept up with Kipo, Mandu, and the twins as they rushed for the front door. She stood to the side as Dave brought Jamack in, and got her first good look at him. She knew at a glance that the cat scratch was nothing serious, but after seeing him unconscious, ill, and spattered with old blood, she decided there was one other thing she needed to do.

* * *

“Why, if it isn’t dear Wolfy!” Scarlemagne sang. He folded his hands on the desk they’d allowed him and grinned. “Impassive as ever, I see.”

Wolf took a breath to speak, but Scarlemagne cut her off.

“It seems there’s quite the brouhaha going on.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Wolf crossed her arms. “What does Dr. Emilia do?” she asked.

His grin soured. “I already told Kipo all I know about—“

“No, to mutes,” Wolf interrupted. “What does she do to mutes?” She paused, frowning thoughtfully. “Or part-mutes.” She raised her chin. “I want specifics.”

There was a brief flash of worry in his eyes before he masked it with a playful smile. “Just because you want something doesn’t mean you’ll get it.”

Wolf sneered. “Oh, yeah? Did you _just_ learn that? Because _I’ve_ known that for years.”

Scarlemagne giggled and set his chin in his hand. “Why the sudden interest?”

“It’s relevant,” Wolf said simply.

“Yes?” He gestured for her to continue.

She scowled. “I _need_ to know what kinds of torture she does to mutes. All of it. Bad experiments, bad living conditions; anything.”

“You still haven’t explained—“

“Does she beat them?” she asked forcefully, more a demand than a question.

 _“Stop interrupting—“_ he began, teeth bared. Then his face fell suddenly. “What did you just say?”

“Does she _beat_ them. Like, hit them.” She mimed throwing a punch. She put her hands on her hips. “And you interrupted me, first.”

Scarlemagne gaped. “No,” he said finally, brows furrowed. “She’s not exactly _gentle,_ but she doesn’t go out of her way to _beat_ her specimens. It would be counter-productive.”

Wolf nodded slowly.

Before she could ask another question, Scarlemagne vaulted over his desk to stand directly in front of her, his hands braced on the bars of his cell. “You’re going to tell me what this is _for,”_ he said sternly. “Or I’ll refuse to speak with you.”

Wolf didn’t flinch. She took her hands off her hips and sighed. “Fine. We found a mute who’s escaped from her, and they’re in really bad shape. We’re trying to help them, but they won’t tell us what happened. So I’m asking _you_ what kinda stuff she usually does.”

He pursed his lips and had the gall to look politely intrigued. _“How_ bad, exactly?”

“Might be dying,” she said bluntly, shrugging.

“Goodness, that _is_ serious,” he muttered.

Wolf looked off to the side and heaved a rehearsed sigh. “Yeah. And if they do die, Kipo will be devastated. She’ll think it was her fault.” She shook her head.

Scarlemagne bristled. “Why would she do _that?”_

Wolf shrugged. “I’m not saying I follow her logic, I just know that’s what she’ll think.”

He looked annoyed for a moment, then composed himself. “Well, better to keep them alive, I suppose. When you _do_ get them to talk, they may have some very helpful information.”

“Probably,” Wolf agreed. “So…?”

Scarlemagne sighed and sat down. “Very well. But you owe me a favor for this.”

Wolf nodded curtly. “Deal.”


	5. Open

Kipo sat on the floor against the wall in Lio’s room. Benson, Dave, and Mandu were lined up on either side of her, and Wolf was just joining them. She made sure to close the door behind her.

The only other person in the large room was Jamack, who’d been laid on Lio’s bed—now set in the corner—and had a light blanket draped over him. Even unconscious, he looked miserable.

From the opposite side of the room, Kipo crawled forward a bit and sat down again. “Hey, Jamack? We need you to wake up for a bit. Just for a few minutes, and then you can go back to sleep.”

No response.

She raised her voice. “Jamack, it’s Kipo. We need to ask you a few questions. Can you wake up just a little?”

Nothing.

She crawled forward until she was a meter away from the bed. It was tall, as beds went, and put Jamack at about eye level with a kneeling Kipo. “Hey, Jamack? The cats are gone. It’s just me and my pack—you know us. Dad’s even waiting outside. You’re safe. The cats won’t attack you again. Can I talk to you a second?”

No change.

She gave a little huff and reached for his hand. She squeezed it, and Jamack reacted instantly.

He startled awake, eyes large and glassy. He blinked hard, then focused on Kipo.

She smiled and the tension building in her shoulders disappeared. “Hey, Jamack. I know you’re tired, but I need to ask you a few questions so I can help you. You’re safe now, and the cats won’t bother you anymore. We put you in Dad’s room because the bed’s nicer and it’s more private than the front room.” She paused. “Did you get all that?”

His eyelids drooped until they were nearly closed. “Mm-hm.”

Kipo gave a small nod. “Okay. First question: Can we treat your wounds and give you medicine to feel better?”

He gave her a puzzled look. _“…Can_ you?”

“Permission,” Kipo said. “I’m asking permission, not questioning our ability.”

“Hm.” He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, but I want you to ask for everything you do.”

Kipo bit her lip. “We’ll have to keep waking you up if we do it that way.”

“That’s what I want,” he said firmly.

Kipo shrugged. “Okay. We can do that. Second question: You told Dave you were deprived of sleep all week. Is there anything else you should have gotten then, but didn’t?”

He blinked slowly. “Food would have been nice. Or water.”

Kipo took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. Okay. Good to know. We have plenty of both here, so just ask and it’s yours.”

He thought for a second. “Could you soak the blanket?”

Kipo tilted her head. “You want me to take the blanket on you now, soak it in water, and put it back on you?”

“Yes.”

“If you say so.” She lifted it off, and didn’t miss Jamack’s small wince when she did so. She turned to the others. “Could somebody…?”

Wolf got up and took the blanket away, disappearing through the door.

“You don’t want a drink?” Kipo asked.

Jamack grimaced. “Not right now,” he muttered.

“Okay! I’ve got one last question for now.”

He looked at her.

“Can you tell me why you can’t be on your back?”

His eyes widened. “No.”

She frowned. “You sure?”

“I can’t—you don’t know what you’re asking. I _can’t.”_

Kipo put her hand on top of his. “Okay; it’s okay. I won’t pry.”

He sighed and shut his eyes. “That it?”

“Yep.” She pulled back. “We’re gonna give you a few minutes, and then I’m gonna let Dad in to patch you up. That okay?”

He gave her a wary look. “If you just leave some stuff in here," he began slowly, "I can take care of it myself.” His lips curled in a self-assured grin. “I just need a little break to get my energy back. I can handle it.”

Kipo frowned disapprovingly. “Don’t say things you don’t believe. You’re smarter than that.”

His grin turned to a flat line.

Kipo sighed. “Is that really what you want?”

He gave her a baffled look.

“To be alone, in pain, waiting for a miraculous moment of—of control so you can hurt yourself even more trying to bandage yourself up? Just so you can _maybe_ get _barely_ healed enough to leave, so you can go be alone in pain somewhere else, and get caught again, or get eaten, or just _die?”_ She scowled. “Because I don’t know if you noticed, but that’s the kind of condition you’re in right now.”

Jamack winced and looked off to the side. “That’s not… _Yes,_ I’ve noticed. I know. I know _very_ well, thank you.” He sighed harshly. “That’s not what I want. I just—I _can_ do it by myself. I don’t need help. If I didn’t come here, I could have dealt with it some other way.”

Kipo tilted her head. “I mean, if you have other friends that would help you, then I _guess_ you could?”

His gaze snapped to her. “We’re not friends. I don’t do friends.”

Kipo’s eyes went wide. “You don’t have any friends? Aww.” She frowned sadly. “Well, we can—“

“Don’t ‘aww’ me,” Jamack snapped. “Friends are liabilities.”

Kipo’s jaw dropped. “Since when!?” She shook her head. “Ugh. Why all this arguing now? You were fine with all this before!”

“I was barely conscious before! And all I agreed to was sleeping on the couch and maybe taking some menthol! Then the cats attacked, and I had to get away, and…” He frowned. “And then… What happened…?” he muttered to himself. “I talked to Dave sometime after that, and then later I woke up here…”

Kipo raised an eyebrow. “Actually, you kicked Yumyan first.” Her expression turned serious. “You got up to a high branch, and you just sorta—I don’t know what happened, you kinda jolted, and I thought for a second you’d been shot. That’s what it looked like. Then you fell. And Dave caught you and you passed out.”

He frowned. “Hm.”

Kipo’s brows furrowed. “Jamack, you know that needing help is okay, right? It’s okay to not be able to do things by yourself. That’s why we have, like, communities and stuff. I mean you were with the Mod Frogs until just recently, right? What did you do then, if you got hurt? Even if you don’t think of any of them as friends, they were still your pack.”

His eyes widened slightly. “If you can’t function without help, you’re less productive and a drain on resources. You’re a burden to The Pond, and as soon as someone realizes, you can count on being ‘accidentally’ left behind in enemy territory, or being transferred upstream to work on cost-benefit analysis.” He paused. “That’s a euphemism for being quietly dragged to the border and kneecapped— _or_ simply having your throat slit, depending on… stuff. …If you couldn’t tell.”

Kipo stared at him.

“Wait, what!?” Benson said from across the room.

Wolf, who had stopped at the doorway with the sopping blanket, just sighed.

“So, no; needing help isn’t _okay_. It’s one thing to coordinate with others for bigger projects or better results, but regular stuff—basic stuff like maintaining your health—is something you have to be able to do on your own.”

Kipo’s expression was horrified and sad. “You grew up like that? Believing that?”

“I don’t have to believe; it’s just true.”

“But you can’t,” Kipo said.

“I can,” Jamack responded.

“No, you can’t.”

“I think you’ll find that I can, actually.”

Kipo shook her head. “No; you physically cannot! You couldn’t go ten minutes without seizing up last night, you passed out for unknown reasons, you threw up your _actual stomach_ less than an hour ago, and you’ve reached the point where you can’t voluntarily _move!”_

Jamack’s eyes opened wide, and he was more alert than he’d been all day.

Kipo stared back, and the brief flash of irritation faded away. “You’re scared,” she realized.

Jamack looked alarmed, but kept his voice even. “Ridiculous.”

Her eyes furrowed. “No; it makes sense. If that’s what you’re used to, then being like this? Powerless? Must be terrifying.”

Jamack blinked. “Is that supposed to be a _taunt?”_

Kipo sat up straight. “No! _No!_ I’m trying to understand! I’m trying to empathize! We aren’t going to _do_ anything to you, or abandon you anywhere, or anything like that!” She paused. “Maybe you have reason to think we will. But please, give us a chance to prove you wrong. Some people do those horrible things you mentioned, yes. But we’re not those people. Please, let us help.”

Wolf walked over, lifted the dripping blanket, and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Jamack closed his eyes and sighed. He opened them. “Fine.”

Kipo smiled and wiggled in place. “Oh, thank you so much, you won’t regret it, we’re gonna do our very best to help and be very careful not to do any harm, and—and all that.”

Jamack glanced down briefly, then back up at Kipo. “Just—I don’t want to be _coddled.”_ He said the word with disgust. “Anything I _can_ do myself, I am going to do myself.”

Kipo raised her palms. “Anything that won’t hurt you, sure. Your independence is important to you and I respect that.”

Wolf climbed onto the bed and draped the wet blanket over Jamack.

“Thanks,” Jamack mumbled, looking away.

Wolf just gave him a curt nod.

Kipo took a deep breath. “So, we’re gonna leave now, and we’ll give you like five or ten minutes and then Dad’s gonna come in to see what he can do about your arm and wherever else all that blood came from.”

“Five is fine,” Jamack said, his tone flat.

“Mmkay.” Kipo gave him a parting smile and followed her friends out.

* * *

There was a knock at the door. “May I come in?”

“You may,” Jamack droned, opening his eyes.

Lio entered with a small side table and a basket hung over his arm. “I just need somewhere to put my materials.”

Jamack watched as he set the table down next to the bed. “You understand the agreement?”

“Yes,” Lio said seriously. “And I’m sorry for last night. I didn’t know it would upset you.”

Jamack squinted. “You really didn’t know?”

Lio shook his head. “I still don’t understand. But I won’t ask unless I absolutely need to.”

Jamack hummed. “So, what’s first on the agenda?”

Lio put the basket down. “My plan is to first examine you for wounds and treat what I can. Anything else will depend on what I discover, or what you tell me.”

“Reasonable,” Jamack commented.

Lio nodded. “Now, I’m going to have to remove your shirt. Would you prefer I pull it off, or cut it?”

Jamack’s eyes had gone wide. “Do _not_ cut it.”

Lio gave a small nod of acknowledgement. “Okay. Then how should we—“

“Just—!” His voice was high and tight. He cleared his throat and started again, lower and more even but a little too deliberate to be mistaken for ease. “Just let me think for a second.”

“Sure.” Lio obligingly stared off at the room’s decorations, including what seemed to be a carved wooden axe. He raised an eyebrow at it.

Jamack frowned to himself, then after a few seconds, “You’re a doctor?”

Lio suddenly looked vaguely exasperated, but kept his tone even. “I have a doctoral degree in biochemistry and not medicine, and so am not a medical doctor in the traditional sense, but I do have extensive medical training and experience. I’m—I _was_ the primary medical professional in our burrow.”

“And humans take their clothes off for medical examinations?”

Lio’s eyebrows shot up and he snapped his eyes back to Jamack. “Only voluntarily, and as-needed, but yes,” he said. “Do Frogs not?”

“No, we do, just… As-needed?” He glanced up at Lio.

Lio tilted his head. “If I was certain you only had those scratches, I would just ask to pull it up enough to get a clear view and treat them. But I believe you have other injuries, and I don’t know where, so removing the shirt would better facilitate an upper-body examination.”

After a few moments, Jamack sighed in resignation. “I suppose you have to,” he muttered. “Fine. And go on and cut it; it would be difficult to salvage at this point anyway.”

Lio took a pair of scissors from the basket. “I’d hoped you would say that. Pulling it off would probably hurt a great deal.” He moved to the side of the bed, still well within Jamack’s field of vision.

Jamack ducked his head down. _“Everything_ hurts a great deal,” he grumbled.

After peeling the blanket back, Lio reached for his collar, subtly rubbing his fingers together to make just enough sound that Jamack could tell where his hand was, even in his blind spot. He pulled the damp fabric away from his skin and started cutting.

Jamack shut his eyes tight, trying not to let the sound of tearing fabric bring him back to the day he was banished from the Mod Frogs. He made an effort to ignore the fierce chills that ran along his spine as the scissors ran down it.

With the back cut open, Lio pulled one side away. “Oh,” he gasped. He put the scissors down. “Jamack…” He removed the other side of the shirt and leaned down for a closer look. “How long have you had these?” His hand traced the air over a particularly dark cut. “Is this _glass?”_

Jamack took a slow, controlled breath. “Probably.” He swallowed. “The bruises were an all-week thing. Slashes on the lower right were from this morning; one of the cats must have snagged me. The more recent cuts are most likely from breaking out yesterday. I had to smash the enclosure, and then I got pushed into the remains a few times in the ensuing fight.” He licked his lips and took another measured breath. “I put the shirt back on afterwards. That’s why it isn’t torn there.”

Lio stood up abruptly. “She had you in a _glass enclosure!?”_ There was a clear edge of anger and indignation to his words.

“Yes.”

Lio took a few seconds to calm himself, then looked over his wounds again. “And these older ones?”

“Oh, those are nothing. Just some scrapes from when we first fought, and from the few scuffles I was able to get into whenever I could break free for a few minutes.”

“Not nothing,” Lio disagreed quietly. “But certainly less dire than some of these newer wounds.” He picked a tool from the basket. “I’m going to have to remove the glass first, then clean out anything else in there.”

Jamack frowned. “Alright.”

After a moment of thought, Lio put the tool aside and picked up the scissors again. “I want to make sure I can get as much as possible, so I’m going to cut the sleeves off now.” And when Jamack didn’t protest, he did just that, cutting diagonal over his shoulders and down each sleeve. He didn’t bother trying to pull the shirt out from under Jamack; it didn’t matter yet.

As he finished the second sleeve, he noticed a discoloration just above Jamack’s wrist. He made an inquisitive noise. “Your wrist. Can I see it?”

“Oh, that. Yes, just don’t twist it.” He tried to remain quiet, but couldn’t help gasping when Lio tugged on his arm.

“Sorry.” Lio carefully pulled his arm out enough to get a good look at it. He found a mass of bruises on the inside of Jamack’s forearm and wrist. There were less severe bruises on the outside of his arm in the same spot, but on the inside it looked as if there were several bruises layered on top of each other, with the oldest already turning not-quite-the-right green, and the newest still fairly red. Lio looked up at Jamack, the embers of fury glowing behind his eyes.

Jamack looked back dully. “As painful as these are, you might want to focus on the glass for now.”

Lio stood up. “Both arms?”

Jamack hesitated. “Ankles too,” he said quietly.

Lio put his hands on his head and took a deep breath. He dropped his arms to his sides. “I’m so sorry, Jamack.”

He looked up, surprised. “What?”

“I’m sorry you were subjected to such terrible things. I—“ He huffed. “If I seem really mad right now, just know that it’s not at you; it’s at her.”

Jamack raised an eyebrow. “I figured _that_ much.”

Lio nodded distractedly. He stood up straight, focused. “Alright. Glass.”

He placed the scissors on the table and picked up the tweezers. He wiped them with a cloth that reeked of alcohol, then carefully reached for a shiny sliver that poked out of Jamack’s skin. It was thin, and as he slowly slid it out he was relieved to find that it was also quite small.

Jamack squeezed his eyes shut. This wouldn’t feel nearly as bad if he wasn’t so exposed, peeled open like a bruised orange.

Lio placed the blood-crusted shard on the table, then leaned in for another piece he’d spotted. As he moved to get a better angle on it, he accidentally put pressure on Jamack’s right shoulder.

Jamack _screamed_.

Lio jerked his hands away and stood up straight. “I’m sorry! Does it hurt there?”

Jamack scrunched up his face and made an awful keening sound.

Lio inspected his shoulder, looking more closely at a cut that he’d dismissed as superficial.

The bedroom door opened a crack. “Everything okay?” Dave asked cautiously.

“Not exactly,” Lio responded. “Jamack, I need to get a better look at this. It’s going to hurt.”

Jamack whimpered.

Lio pulled gently at the skin around the wound and Jamack hissed. Lio paused, a bit of bruised skin pinched between his fingers. “Dave, come here and keep Jamack company.”

“Okay.” Dave scuttled over to the end of the bed, in front of Jamack. “Hey dude. This sucks, huh?” He looked up. “That’s the same shoulder I pulled a few hours ago, isn’t it?”

Lio glanced at him. “There’s a deep cut here, and far too close to his scapula for my liking.”

“His what?”

“Shoulder bone. Jamack, I’m going to probe in here a little and see just how bad this is, and where it goes.”

Jamack took a shaky breath. “Mm-hmm.”

Dave ran off to drag a chair over, then climbed on top of it. “S’okay if I hold your hand?”

“Fine,” Jamack mumbled, barely audible.

“Mind the wrist,” Lio advised.

Dave pulled his right hand closer and held it in his claws.

Lio slowly slid the tweezers into the cut. He angled his head so he could see inside as far as possible. The neat edges were dusted with dry maroon blood, and Lio had to pull a string of clot out to make room for the tool.

Jamack bit back the little noises that sprung up in his throat.

Dave stroked the top of his hand.

Lio probed further, even more cautious with the tweezers already an inch in, and froze when he felt and heard a distinct scrape.

Jamack yelped.

Dave’s antennae stood straight up, but he continued rubbing Jamack’s hand.

“There’s a piece of glass in here,” Lio said calmly. “Wedged under the edge of the scapula. I’m going to take it out now; if I don’t, any shoulder movement could drive it deeper.”

He turned the tweezers, opening the wound even more, and maneuvered the two prongs on either side of the chunk of glass. Fresh blood was filling the cavity and obscuring his view, but when he closed the tweezers, he felt them clamp around a solid object. “I’ve got it,” he said. “I’m going to bring it out very slowly; the edges are sharp, and I want to cause the least amount of damage possible.”

He adjusted his grip and tugged. The glass stuck for a second, then slid out from under the bone with a soft squelch.

“Ghnnckt!” Jamack grimaced, then some of the tension in his face faded. He opened his eyes a little. “Woahh,” he breathed. “S’gone already?”

“Almost,” Lio said. “Not yet. I just got it unstuck. I still have to get it out.” He pulled the glass along, careful not to lose his grip on it.

Jamack gave a long, worn out sigh.

Dave scratched his head with one of his free hands. “So, you heard what happened at the coronation, right?”

Jamack blinked tiredly. “I know Kipo defeated Scarlemagne. Or something. And there was a megamonkey? And gold?” Jamack frowned. “I only got a third-hand account, and the Otters are prone to …embellishment.”

Dave hummed thoughtfully. “Oh! So you haven’t seen Kipo in her giant megajaguar form yet, huh?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Nope.”

“It’s super cool! I won’t spoil it, but she is _awesome!”_

Lio grinned softly.

Jamack frowned thoughtfully. “Hey. You said Kipo’s mother was a megamute.”

“Did I?” Lio blinked. “I suppose I did.”

Jamack was quiet for a few seconds. “So, are some megas just naturally sapient, or…?”

“None that I’ve ever seen,” Lio said.

Jamack was silent. He crinkled his nose.

Dave cleared his throat. “Um, Lio, you might want to explain that part? I think he thinks you—“

Lio’s eyes widened. “Oh! No, no no no no no. No no no. Kipo’s mom was born human. She was mutated into a mega _after_ Kipo was born. And she kept her sapience.”

“Oh, alright.” Jamack seemed satisfied with this answer. Then he frowned again. “So, is there any chance that— _if_ Dr.Emilia’s ‘current project’ works—that a mute could—also—? I mean I don’t _want_ …You know. But given a choice, I’d rather keep…?”

Lio finally freed the shard of glass and plunked it down on the table. It was large, thick, and _wicked_ sharp. Less of a shard and more of a chunk, really. “You know, that’s a very good question. I’m not sure.” He mopped up the new blood with a clean cloth. “But despite Dr. Emilia’s intentions, I’m inclined to think that you wouldn’t lose it. It could just become harder to access consistently, at least until you could develop better control over the mega part. That’s kind of what happened to Song. Kipo’s mother.”

Jamack sighed. “First bit of good news I’ve heard all week,” he mumbled.

Dave tapped a happy rhythm on Jamack’s hand. “That glass must have been bothering you a ton! You seem a lot less tense now!” He blinked. “What about the other stuff? Are you still naus—“

Jamack jabbed him with his tongue, causing him to topple backwards off the chair. “If you mention being sick _one more time,”_ he seethed, “I _will_ find a way to kill you.”

“Hey,” Lio scolded automatically. “We don’t talk like that here.”

“He keeps talking about it and making it worse!” Jamack snapped. He glared at Dave. “If you really care, you’ll stop bringing it up!”

He raised all four hands. “Okay!”

Jamack’s brain seemed to stall out for a moment, not having expected a positive response so quickly. “Good,” he said, finally.

Dave stood up. “I’m surprised they didn’t do anything to your tongue.”

Jamack gave him a sharp glare. “Oh, they _did_ stuff alright. They just didn’t damage it.”

Lio paused from his work extracting the smaller shards that had stuck into Jamack. “What did they do?” he asked neutrally.

He sighed. “Just messed around with it, mostly. Stretched it out. Stuck things to it. Tied it into knots. Just… _touched_ it.” He made a disgusted face. “Their excuse was ‘research,’ but I think they just wanted to play with it.” He scowled. “As if it wasn’t my _actual_ _tongue_ , and a part of my _actual body!”_

Lio frowned. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“But it’s okay now?” Dave asked.

“Yeah, it’s fine. And they really didn’t do much else to my mouth besides examine it.”

“Why didn’t you bite them?”

All flippancy disappeared. “I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“They had me restrained,” he grated. He cut off Dave before he could speak again. “Yes, even my mouth.”

“How?”

Jamack rolled his eyes. “A gag, obviously.”

“Ahh.” Dave nodded sagely.

Jamack huffed. “As riveting as this conversation has been, I’m done with it. Talk amongst yourselves if you like; I don’t care. I’m going to sleep.”

“I’ll wake you if I have any important questions,” Lio assured him.

“Good,” Jamack muttered, and pointedly closed his eyes.

He couldn’t fall asleep while Lio was picking the glass out of his back, but the water he used to irrigate and wash the wounds helped him relax considerably. After Lio stitched the worst wounds shut, he carefully dressed all but the tiniest scrapes, and by the time he finished, Jamack had fallen asleep. Lio soaked the blanket again, then laid it gently over Jamack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want it to be clear that _all of this_ so far was written _before_ the season 3 trailer was released. Just a fun fact, lol


	6. Normal

Lio and Dave entered the kids’ bedroom. Benson and Troy were out. Kipo was scribbling in a notebook. Asher, Dahlia and Wolf were talking, and Mandu was listening.

“He’s going to need new clothes,” Lio said by way of greeting.

Everyone looked up at him.

Kipo put down the notebook. “We can probably borrow something from the cats.”

“Mod Frogs are fussy about their suits,” Wolf added. “So maybe Benson should pick it out. He knows clothes stuff.”

Dahlia nodded. “He does seem to have a good sense of fashion.”

Lio nodded and sat down on a mattress, now on the same level as the rest of them.

Asher frowned. “So, how is he?”

“Stable,” Lio said. “His heartrate’s lowered and he’s fully coherent. Breathing strong. No twitching. He’s still mostly immobile but it looks more like extreme fatigue coupled with pain than nerve damage, so he should recover completely given enough rest.”

They all relaxed a little bit.

Lio’s face creased and his voice lowered. “He had glass stuck in his back, and whatever she did to keep him in one place left extensive bruising there, and on his wrists and ankles.”

Kipo leaned forward, eyes wide. “Glass!? Why didn’t he tell us last night!? We could have taken care of it then!” Her eyebrows shot up. “No wonder he didn’t want to be on his back!”

Lio sighed. “I think he didn’t trust us enough then. I’m not sure he does _now_ , but at the very least he’s willing to take some chances if it means getting some relief.”

Kipo groaned and laid back on the mattress.

Dave cleared his throat. “By the way; don’t mention being sick around him. It makes him sick.”

Lio frowned in frustration and put his chin in his hand. “I’m not sure what to do about that. He needs to eat.”

“And drink,” Kipo added.

Lio raised his eyebrows. _“That_ might be easier to arrange. Old-world amphibians could absorb water through their skin. I don’t know if frog mutes do too, but it’s possible.”

Dahlia gasped. “What? Like earthworms? That’s so cool!”

Wolf raised an eyebrow. “Huh.”

“Something like that,” Lio said, quirking a smile.

Asher tapped their feet on the floor. “Now what?”

“There’s a lot we need to do,” he said. “But it’s going to be difficult if he doesn’t trust us.” He gestured with one hand, listing off items. “I need to know everything that happened. Ideally, I’d give him a full examination. He needs a wash. I need a better idea of what effects different drugs have on his species. I need to know what’s normal for him and what isn’t. I need him to _tell_ me what he’s feeling so I can treat him properly. _And_ I need to find something he can eat.” He shrugged and shook his head.

Kipo frowned. “I’ll work on talking with him when he’s awake.”

Lio gave her a small smile. “I appreciate that. He seems to be a little more open with you.”

Dave shrugged. “Most mutes eat a lot of different human food.”

“Maybe so, but I still need specifics.” Lio said. “I wouldn’t want to accidentally get him the one thing that’s toxic to Frogs. I’ll just ask when he’s up.”

“Maybe a nice hot soup?” Asher suggested. “That’s what our parents make _us_ when we’re not feeling well.”

Lio sat up. “Not hot. That reminds me; you all need to know not to give Jamack anything very hot or very cold unless he requests it like that. He doesn’t regulate his body temperature like we do, and a significant enough change could be disastrous to his health.”

Asher and Dahlia nodded.

They continued to discuss Jamack for a while. Lio made it clear that Jamack was his responsibility, and that the kids didn’t have to help if they didn’t want to, or if it stressed them out too much.

They assured him that they really did want to assist where they could; even the twins, who’d never met Jamack.

Lio thanked them all for their compassion, and after a few minutes, they all went their separate ways.

Wolf followed Lio as he headed downstairs. “Lio,” she said in a low voice.

Lio startled a little then turned around. “Yes, Wolf?”

“I need to talk to you about something important,” she said.

Lio nodded slowly. “Okay.” He changed directions towards an empty balcony.

Wolf leaned against the rail, her arms crossed. “I talked to Scarlemagne.”

Lio blinked. “Okay?”

“He learned things about Dr. Emilia when you weren’t there. Things she might not have told you.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“She didn’t think of him as a person, so she had conversations in front of him about other projects while she was focused on his mind-control sweat thing.”

Lio looked down. “I’m pretty sure he’d have told me if he heard anything odd…”

Wolf shrugged. “He could be lying.”

Lio sighed. “Well, what did he tell you?”

“Scarlemagne was the first normal animal she got to become a mute. But he isn’t the first mute she’s experimented on.”

* * *

They let Jamack sleep through most of the day. The kids took turns checking in on him and reported back to Lio whenever he wasn’t working in the Timbercats’ hidden medical supply room.

By the time the Timbercats gathered for dinner, Jamack seemed to have improved a little. Instead of remaining splayed out like they’d left him, he’d managed to move enough to curl up like an old-world frog, with his limbs tucked close to his body and his hands folded neatly under his chin. A human would find the position impossible to replicate, and incredibly uncomfortable besides, but Jamack had taken it without even waking.

Lio entered the bedroom quietly. He kneeled on the floor two meters away from the bed, as per Wolf’s suggestion. “Jamack?” He repeated himself, slightly louder, when he got no response. “Jamack?”

Jamack took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He took in Lio and scanned his surroundings. He focused back on Lio. “Sundown already?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yes. How do you know?”

Jamack gave him a blank look. “That’s just what time it is?”

Lio tilted his head and opened his mouth, then shook his head. “Nevermind. I’m here to change your bandages.” He sat back a little. “How are you feeling?”

Jamack blinked slowly, looking off to the side. “Back doesn’t sting as much.” He spoke quietly, as if divulging sensitive information. “Shoulder still hurts, but it’s much better than before.” He idly stretched his fingers out, then flinched. “Ow, _ow,”_ he hissed, scowling. He pulled his hand out from under his snout and flexed it cautiously, watching the tendons shift under the black and blue blotch on his wrist. “I can move again, I guess,” he said flatly. His expression softened. “And my head’s a lot clearer now. Doesn’t feel like I’m being smothered.”

Lio nodded. He took Jamack’s cue and spoke in a subdued tone. “I’m glad to hear it. Do try to keep your shoulder still though; it’ll heal much faster if the wound isn’t pulled in different directions.” He stood up. “I have some medications to offer you, but you’ll have to let me know if you’re allergic to anything.” He tilted his head. “Can you absorb water through your skin?”

Jamack snorted. “What? No.”

Lio furrowed his brows. “It’s important that I know the truth, Jamack, and I have good reason to believe that that isn’t it. There are certain treatments I can’t give you if you can. Something harmless to a human could seriously hurt you.”

“Don’t think I can get much more hurt than I already am,” Jamack grumbled. He hesitated a second, scanning Lio’s face, then made a disgusted noise. _“Fine!_ Yeah, I can. And air too, if you must know. You happy now? _Doctor?”_

“Alright.” Lio sighed deeply. “Do you see what I mean though? If I gave you an oil or astringent, it’d close up your pores, and you wouldn’t be able to absorb _anything._ There are some things that I really do need to know. _”_ He tilted his head. “Why the runaround, Jamack?”

He shot him an irritated glare. “Look, these aren’t just _me_ things, they’re _Frog_ things. Potential weaknesses. If the Mod Frogs find out I’ve spilled _this_ much, they’ll hunt me down and cut out my tongue.”

Lio’s shoulders drooped. “I’m not going to use this against you, or anyone else,” he said. “And I’m obligated to keep my patients’ secrets. _Please;_ trust me.”

Jamack looked unconvinced. “What do you have? Did you get that menthol?”

Lio looked disappointed, but allowed him to change the subject. “I did; that’s what I’d like to try first, actually.” He removed the Altoids tin from the basket and opened it. “I made a mint-based gel that works as a local analgesic. It’ll feel cold, but that’s just a side effect of the menthol; it’ll remain room temperature.”

“And how do you know it works?”

“I tested it on myself.” For good measure, Lio dabbed his finger in the tin and smeared some gel across his cheek.

“Oh.” Jamack thought for a minute. “Well, what are you going to do with it?”

“If you’ll let me, I’ll apply it to the cuts on your back. I can’t put it _in_ the cuts, but I can spread it around them and hopefully take the edge off the pain there. If that goes well, I’d like to try it on your bruises as well—but until we know it’s alright, I don’t want to apply that much at once.”

“Sounds good. Anything else?”

Lio shrugged. “I have an opiate derivative, but—“

Jamack’s eyes brightened. “Oh! That should do nicely.”

Lio raised an eyebrow. “But I can’t give it to you until you’ve eaten.”

Jamack balked. “Why on Earth not!?”

He set the tin down and crossed his arms. “Because one of the most common side effects is nausea—“

Jamack groaned. “Not this again.”

“But if it’s taken with food, the effects are lessened.” He gestured with one hand. “Besides, you need to eat something soon anyway; nausea notwithstanding.”

He grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut. “Nope. Can’t do that.”

Lio put his hands on his hips. “Jamack.”

He glared up at him. “Try the menthol. Then we’ll talk.”

Lio dropped his arms to his sides and shrugged with a short nod. “Alright. Just think about it.”

Jamack huffed. He slowly stretched out, just enough so that he wasn’t in such a tight ball. “I don’t need to eat that often anyway,” he grumbled. “One week is nothing.”

Lio gave him an unimpressed look. “Maybe. I admit I don’t know enough about Frogs to dispute that. But when _is_ the last time you had a decent meal?”

“Recently!” he said indignantly. “It was only…” His face went blank. “It was…” His eyes widened. “No, that can’t be right.”

Lio tilted his head, concerned. “What is it?”

“I mean I—I had a little here and there, but an actual—ugh, no wonder I feel like garbage.” He sighed in exasperation.

“Jamack,” Lio prompted.

“It was before we caught Kipo,” he mumbled, glaring down at the bedspread. “The first time. When I was still—before I got exiled.”

Lio’s jaw dropped. “That—was—Jamack, that was ages ago!” He shook his head disbelievingly. _“How?”_

“I had other things on my mind,” Jamack grumbled. “Like not being somebody _else’s_ meal, maybe?” He fixed Lio with an irritated look. “Sometimes I feel like you humans don’t appreciate the danger up here. It’s like you don’t believe mutes when they say they’ll eat you, because you’ve never personally seen it happen. The only one who gets it is the one who wears a dead wolf on her head.”

Lio leaned back, brows furrowed. “That doesn’t explain—“

“No, it does!” Jamack interrupted. “Frogs—and Snakes too, while we’re on the subject—can survive long periods of time without eating. It’s just how our metabolisms work. So if— _hypothetically—“_ He drew the word out, enunciating every syllable. “One suddenly found themselves on the run, with no home, no allies, and countless enemies, one might be inclined to put lunch _on hold_ and focus one’s time and energy on staying alive long enough to _care about being hungry!”_

Lio nodded slowly, conceding the point. He raised one eyebrow slightly. “And when you joined the Theotters?”

Jamack snorted. “They’re called ‘starving artists’ for a reason.” He raised an eyebrow. “Besides, I wasn’t _actually_ starving. I was eating, just not… much. Or… regularly.”

Lio sighed. “So, since you’ve apparently been going hungry for several weeks at the very least, and now you _are_ safe, and have allies, and more urgently have a lot of healing to do, now is exactly the right time to eat something.”

Jamack frowned, eyes narrowing. “Look… theoretically, I agree. Practically? Not happening.”

Lio moved to the side of the bed and folded the blanket back. He began carefully removing the old bandages. “What do Frogs eat, nowadays?” he asked, undeterred.

“Don’t make me think about food.” His eyes flicked up to see Lio better. “I’m serious. Don’t.”

“Flies?”

“No.”

That gave Lio pause. “Really?”

“We have an agreement,” Jamack said. “Well. With the houseflies. Any other fly species is fair game.”

“Huh.” He went quiet, inspecting the bare wounds. “I know it hasn’t been long,” he said, “But these are doing remarkably well. No signs of infection.”

“Good,” Jamack muttered.

“Well, I don’t know how I’d get flies anyway,” Lio said, picking up where he’d left off. “What about pancakes?”

“Stop it.”

“’Cause we have plenty of those. I could ask the kids—”

“Is this a g—“ Jamack cut off with a wince, and Lio could hear his breath stutter. He forced his way through it, almost snarling. “A game— _g-game_ to you? You’re worse than the _bug_. Do you not understand how _supremely unpleasant_ it is to turn your own stomach inside out and hock it—u-up—?“ He hastily used his left arm to press his head down against the bed, forcing his jaw shut. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Lio stood straight as a board. “No, I—I’m sorry. You’re right; I went too far. I should have stopped when you asked.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I imagine it’s much more unpleasant than the—er, method humans use.”

“Not to mention _p-painful.”_ He slid his arm off his face and closed his eyes. He looked ready to sleep through another day.

“I’m sorry Jamack,” Lio said softly.

“Yeah, whatever,” Jamack mumbled.

Lio opened his mouth to speak, then reconsidered. Instead, he took the menthol gel and started rubbing it lightly into Jamack’s skin. He was careful to keep it out of the cuts and to avoid pressing too hard on the bruises.

Jamack had tensed, at first, uncomfortable with both the prolonged touch and the perceived chill. It was an odd sensation, only made more confusing by the warmth of Lio’s fingertips.

Then after a few minutes the cold feeling gave way to a mild numbness—not enough to eliminate the stings and aches, but a welcome dulling of the worst of them—and he practically melted. He let out a quiet, content sigh as he teetered on the edge of consciousness.

Lio dressed his wounds with fresh bandages. He put away the tin and leftover bandages, and paused with the floral flask in his hand. He set it down, and walked around to kneel in front of Jamack. “Hey,” he said softly.

He opened his eyes slowly.

“I’m sorry, but I have to bring this up again. I’m afraid your health will only deteriorate if you don’t get proper nutrition in the next twenty-four hours. I’ll only ask you to try a little bit at first. And you can decide what to start with. You _need_ something protein-rich, but if it’ll make things easier, you can have whatever your favorite is first.”

He lifted his head a little, studying Lio’s face. He sighed. “I know.” He hesitated. “Anything?”

“Nothing sapient. Please,” Lio said flatly.

Jamack snorted. “Fair enough. I’m willing to try grasshoppers. Doesn’t matter what color.” He gave him a pointed look. “And they have to be _alive._ I don’t know if I can tolerate anything… dead. Right now.”

“Grasshoppers,” Lio repeated. “Well that’s perfect; they’re very high in protein.” He smiled. “Thank you for being willing to try,” he said quietly. “I know it’s hard.”

Jamack looked away. “Oh come on, don’t make it weird,” he muttered.

Lio got up. He gestured at the blanket. “Should I—?”

Jamack gave a small nod.

After soaking the blanket and replacing it over Jamack, Lio took his leave with a smile and a “Goodnight, Jamack.”

The phrase was so second nature to him that he thought nothing of it and, as he shut the door behind him, completely missed the look of shock on Jamack’s face.

* * *

“Hey, Frog.”

An hour after Lio left, Wolf appeared at the door with a lit candlestick in her bare hand, held like a torch.

“Did nobody teach you to knock?” Jamack sniped.

She came in and closed the door behind her. She held an indistinct bundle under one arm. “Nope.”

“What do you want?”

“Found some stuff.”

“So?”

“So I’m giving it to you.” She reached for a lamp on the wall.

“No; leave that off,” Jamack said quickly.

“But I can’t see.”

“Exactly.”

Wolf sighed and rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She put the bundle on the floor and sorted through it. She hefted a heavy wooden cudgel onto her shoulder. “Cats didn’t have any baseball bats,” she said. “But this is pretty close.”

From the dark corner of the room, Jamack frowned.

Wolf put it down with a loud thud and unrolled a large flat round object. “It’s a leaf.”

He blinked incredulously at her. “I can see that.”

“Obviously it isn’t a lilypad, but it’s about the right size and shape.”

“…Roughly,” he conceded. “But why?” 

She’d moved on to the next few items. “There’s a white flannel, and a black flannel, and some extra clothes hangers, and a darning kit—“

“Hey,” he interrupted. “What is this _for?”_

“—And some maple candies,” she finished, holding up a small bag. “They’re for you.”

“Why?”

“So you’ll stay.”

He shook his head slowly. _“What?”_

Wolf dropped the candy on the small pile and held the candle up. “You need to stay here to get better.”

“Who said I was going anywhere?”

“Do you feel safe?”

“Do _you?”_

“Yeah. I do,” Wolf said. “Safe as I _can_ feel, anyway. Answer the question.”

“No, of course I don’t!”

Wolf nodded. “Right. So I’m changing that.”

“You—Wh—? With a _leaf_ and some _candy?“_

“I’m making this place more like what you’re used to. I’m even giving you a weapon.” She nudged the cudgel with her foot.

Jamack was quiet.

Wolf shifted her weight. “You can even hide it, if you want. Nobody else knows about this. I won’t tell.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What’s your angle?”

She looked him right in the eyes. “You stay. You get better. Kipo’s happy. Then you do whatever you want; I don’t care.” She paused. “Besides, I owe you. Twice. I’m making us even.”

“Woah now, hang on, that’s not how that—!“

“Are you gonna chill here? Or am I going to have to _make_ you chill here? I’m trying the nice option first, but if you push me…” Wolf crossed her arms and shrugged.

Jamack smirked. “Your threats need more nuance,” he advised. “That, or specificity.”

She scowled and poked the eye of the pelt on her head. _“This_ nuanced enough for you?”

His smirk widened. “See, that’s _much_ better!”

Wolf growled in frustration and shook her head. “Look. Either stay and _cooperate_ and let us help you, or _get lost_ and just go die in a hole or something. Don’t waste our time.”

Jamack said nothing.

“Well!?”

“I’m not _leaving.”_

“Not like _that_ you’re not,” she scoffed. “But when you _could._ When you can get around. You can’t just leave right away.”

“Why not?”

“Because Dr. Emilia _did_ something and if you don’t let us fix it, you could end up with two heads and no brains.”

“You’re just asking me not to bolt the first chance I get?”

“Yeah. I get that you’re not comfortable here, but leaving would be stupid. Besides, you don’t have anywhere else to _go.”_

Jamack narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Fine.”

“Great.” Wolf turned to leave. She paused and tapped the doorframe. “You’re allowed to use the lock, you know. We put it in just for you. This is basically your room now.” And she was out the door and down the hall before he could respond.


End file.
